Scars Fade
by Tears of Mercury
Summary: Ellie remembered a time when she had to select her clothes carefully before going out longsleeved shirts or the arms socks and fishnet she was so fond of. Then something changed. [oneshot]


**Pairing:** None, although there are one-sentence references to both Crellie and Jellie friendships.

**Summary:** Ellie remembered a time when she had to select her clothes carefully before going out; long-sleeved shirts or the arm socks and fishnet she was so fond of, jeans or skirts and shirts that covered the faint pink lines on her hip from that one time when she hadn't wanted Sean to know about. Then something changed.

**Warning:** This fic does have to do with themes of self mutilation. If this is offensive to you or you struggle with this issue, I would encourage you to think twice before reading this.

**A/N:** I'm beginning to feel like Craig on one of his bipolar episodes... thirty pages of an original story and three and a half one-shots in one week. I promise that I've proofread over this and tried to search for grammatical errors, but I think my mind has finally shut off and my brain and what reaches to keyboard is completely unconnected. This is somewhat AU in that it might be off on some of the details of the episode, but overall I think it can be read as before/during/after the Kevin Smith movie premier (so sorry I don't remember what episode). So to try to make sure the one-shot is longer than the author's note, here's the story. I hope you all enjoy.

**Scars Fade**

Her scars had faded almost completely.

Ellie remembered a time when she had to select her clothes carefully before going out; long-sleeved shirts or the arm socks and fishnet she was so fond of, jeans or skirts and shirts that covered the faint pink lines on her hip from that one time when she hadn't wanted Sean to know about. Then something changed. The scars that had been such a shameful secret for so long somehow liberated her. When Ellie Nash went out, she didn't worry any more about wearing long sleeves or bringing along jackets. If people stared, that was their business. If they asked she would tell them. These lines of strengthened, healed tissue had become a central part of her, and they allowed her to tell her story proudly, giving her the strength she hadn't had two years ago, hiding behind dark clothing and thinly veiled lies.

But now they were almost gone. Soon they would be invisible altogether.

She hadn't noticed at first; not when she'd bought the insanely gorgeous (not to mention girly) dress for the Kevin Smith movie premiere; not when a strange smile had lit up Marco's face when she'd answered her door in a tank top one morning. But here in her house, without the dangly shawl wrapped around her shoulders, it was all too apparent. Ellie wanted to cry. It was ironic that while most people cried when their skin scarred, immediately saving up for plastic surgery, here she was closing her eyes around tears and wishing more than anything she could get those hideous marks back. They reminded her of who she was, of who she had been. They helped her to remember.

That was the scariest part, she realized. The first thing that had come to mind when she'd seen her arms, almost completely free of marks, was 'well, then, let's go make some new ones.' Of course, she hadn't. The rational part of her and even the greater section of her emotional self had no desire to search the house for something sharp to penetrate flesh with, to make her bleed. But damnit, she'd gotten used to those scars, and she didn't seem whole without them anymore.

There was a time when Ellie Nash had believed that she would never be able to wear strapless gowns or tank tops or even three quarter length shirts. It had given her a secret longing to be able to show up at her senior prom or some other equally formal, over-the-top event in an arm-baring frock that made her look normal, beautiful even. The bittersweet impossibility had made her wish for it even more. But everything that she had wanted was sitting in her lap; she was going some place fancy in an elegant dress, and her very own prince would be there (even if he was with another princess). Now that it was here, she felt strangely exposed. Nothing distinctive remained on her pale arms, smattered with dry, darkened patches of skin that looked more like an uneven tan than a story (her story), and she would have given anything to have the shield of her scars to hide behind.

She had told Craig once that regardless of how long she went without cutting, she would always be a cutter. It would always be her initial response to bad times, regardless of whether or not she restrained herself. Something had changed between last spring and this spring, though. When she was upset, she called Marco and talked it out with him or spent time watching Jimmy draw. If life seemed like too much to bear, Craig was there to take her in his arms and remind her that it would get better, that he would be there trying the make it better until it was. Those times when cutting crossed her mind, the five step plan burned into her mind kicked in almost immediately, and she reached for a journal or a phone or the nearest person's hand. Maybe there was more to Ellie than her cutting after all. The idea scared her senseless.

The thing that had ripped her apart and could have killed her if she hadn't gotten help was also what made her deep and gave her distinction. The way eighty-year-old men stood up before people and proclaimed "I am a Pearl Harbor survivor," she would sit in a circle of people and quietly whisper, "and my name is Ellie and I am a cutter." This, it seemed, was just one more thing being taken away from her. Where on earth did she have to go from here?

"Eleanor! Your friend is here!" With a small shriek of surprise, Ellie quickly collected herself, slipping on her heels and grabbing her purse before heading to the door. After a moment's hesitation, she snatched the frail white lace garment crumpled on her dresser. Whether she chose to wear it or not, it was always nice to know it was there. She stopped in the living room in front of Marco, dark eyes glowing.

"You look absolutely gorgeous, El." Her eyes traveled to her arms and she touched them ever so lightly, tears suddenly blinding her.

"Where do we go now?" she asked in a small voice. His warm hand closed around hers and suddenly they were both laughing and crying out two years of waiting and earning strange stares from her mother. Marco pulled her out the door so quickly that she squealed in surprise. They practically danced down the steps.

"Anywhere you want to," he said, and she believed him.

-0-0-0-

Jimmy told her she looked beautiful. Craig offered her a chaste kiss on the cheek and a huge hug under Manny's watchful eyes. She shrugged their comments off, not really believing anyone other than her mother or her gay best friend would ever really see her that way. But later that evening when she went to the bathroom before leaving the theater, she took a long, hard look in the mirror. Red hair and pale purple silk worked beautifully together, even though they shouldn't have. Her brown eyes, usually so heavily covered with eyeliner, seemed bare with only the lightest of eye shadow gracing her lids. The girl in the mirror looked like a stranger. The girl in the mirror, she realized, was beautiful.

And the girl in the mirror was her.

The next day, Ellie wore short sleeves to school.


End file.
